Andy, Tutoring the Basketball Star

When Cameron sat down beside me for a tutoring session at the college’s writing center, neither of us suspected that, before the end of the month, all eight inches of his black cock would be shoved down my throat while my greedy pussy begged me to fuck him. It would have been unthinkable to imagine that: his hands tightening their grip on my long brown hair, the biggest dick I’d ever seen thrusting into my mouth, my own drool coating my breasts.

It definitely didn’t occur to either of us.

Because I was a guy, a short pasty English major. While I’d spent my first two years of college holed up in my dorm, working my way through every great American novel, Cameron had been working his way through just about every girl on campus. We’d had a class together my second semester, one of those intro to philosophy courses they make freshmen take, and he’d spent most of it with a hand down a white girl’s pants. A different girl from week to week.

“My professor said we get extra credit if one of you signs that I came here for help,” he pushed his paper, awash with red-inked corrections, across the table.

“Lovely,” I said. “I’ll sign it once we go over your essay..”

A flicker of annoyance passed across his face. Like most jocks, he just wanted the handful of points that would keep him from failing.

“Can you read it out for me?” I asked him.

He barely hid a rolling of the eyes, but went ahead just the same. It was about wealth and the American Dream in The Grapes of Wrath. It was surprisingly okay. When he was done, I asked what he thought of his essay, and he smiled ruefully. “Kinda sounds like I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

I laughed, “Your words, not mine. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. I’m basically just sayin’ shit.”

“Yeah, I was thinking you could use more evidence to back up your claims.”

About halfway through the session, as I was walking him through the various ways he could quote, summarize, and paraphrase the text, his eyes lit up, “You’re saying I can just put the book’s words in there?”

“It’s not just that you can: your professor wants you to.”

“Damn, that’ll add like a whole page to this.”

“Exactly,” I grinned with the satisfaction of helping another student ‘get’ academia.

That feeling never got old: every time felt just as good as the first.

Most struggling undergrads only needed some encouragement, someone who spoke the same language as them. I might have been awkward in other social situations, but here my talents were obvious.

“You’re the fucking man, Andy,” he said as I signed his paper. “I honestly thought this would be a waste of my time.”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t,” I said, handing the essay back to him. “Just add those quotes, and I think you’ll be in really good shape.”

I didn’t see Cameron again until the following Thursday, over a week later. I was eating a sandwich at the dining hall when I felt a tap on the shoulder. Turning, I saw Cameron with an arm wrapped around a gorgeous blonde.

“Andy! I got a B on my essay!”

I wiped some mustard off my mouth with a napkin, “Hell yeah, that’s awesome!”

“I got a problem though. I forgot about this dumbass paper that’s due tomorrow. Can you help me out?”

I sighed, “I can only tutor at the writing center. That’s our policy.”

Cameron nodded, “What if we just hung out as friends though? That’d be okay, right?”

I could see where he was going with this.

“And while we were hanging out, I worked on my paper, bouncing ideas off you and getting your take, and at the end I paid you like two hundred bucks.”

My eyebrows shot up. That was more than two weeks worth of work at the writing center.

“That wouldn’t break your policy, would it?”

The blonde smiled at me. My eyes flitted between them. Besides the two hundred bucks, I sensed there was a chance a friendship with Cameron could lead to other opportunities.

“I’d be down to just hang out as friends.”

Cameron’s grin split his face, “That’s why you’re the man, Andy.”

I put my number in his phone, and he texted me his address.

“Come over in like two hours,” he said.

“Will do, looking forward to it, Cameron.”

“Call me Cam,” he said as he walked out of the dining hall, a hand cupping his girl’s ass over her jeans.